We got our minivan last week.
And you know what? I teared up during the drive home from the dealer. But not for the reasons you might think.
To me, this minivan announces that We did it. We had a family.
I remember sitting at work one day when I was pregnant with Sam and Emilie, complaining that with twins I might be forced to get a minivan. “I’m only 30, you guys,” I whined. “I’m too young for a MINIVAN.”
If only I could go back in time and tell that version of me to get over herself. I spent the next four years thinking that I would give ANYTHING to drive a minivan, or chop off my hair, or wear mom jeans.
I can never write enough words on this blog to describe what it was like to feel so hopeless, to spend month after month pumping myself full of drugs and making my body bloated and sore and moody only to find out that once again nothing worked. The experience changed me in ways I will have to cope with for the rest of my life. The experience is also the reason I celebrate things that are easy to take for granted. A minivan. Dirty diapers. Trips to the playground. A house littered with sippy cups and plastic toys.
We’ve enjoyed the new vehicle so far—the nice view from riding up high, discovering all the storage, the dual power sliding doors. But my favorite thing about the minivan is what it signifies: We had kids that LIVED.